Amalia Ulman’s “El Planeta” was not officially a COVID movie. Still, when her caustic comedy about a mother and daughter getting on each other’s nerves hit during the pandemic, the claustrophobic comedy certainly held that resonance. The Argentine-Spanish filmmaker scales up her absurdist stylings in her sophomore feature “Magic Farm” with an expansive, starry ensemble whose hijinks span multiple storylines. It’s still a hilarious adventure, but Ulman loses some of her magic within a more diffuse narrative framework.
READ MORE: 25 Most Anticipated Movies At The 2025 Sundance Film Festival
“Magic Farm” foregrounds the tension of “El Planeta” between ordinary people and the exploitative economies imploding around them. She locates perfect vessels to speak the subtext in a news crew for a “Vice”-like alternative media outlet. The gang, led by on-camera personality Edna (Chloë Sevigny) and behind-the-scenes producer Jeff (Alex Wolff), is so obsessed with establishing their authority by trendspotting that they often miss the reality in front of them.
That starts as early as their arrival to film their latest pseudo-documentary in the wrong country, and it only gets weirder from there as they begin to ingratiate themselves with the locals. This motley crew can speak the language of political praxis … but have likely only ever digested such material from a tweet-length source, and it shows in their awkward interactions. These digitally-driven creatives come to embody the toxic internet habit of creating their own reality when they forge ahead with the story they want about a popular song in the area—not one that actually exists.
Past a point in “Magic Farm,” the importance of the shoot itself fades into a secondary concern. Ulman’s film splinters into a series of each crew member attaching themselves to a local. Their resultant squirm-worthy interactions illuminate the odd cross-cultural exchanges that happen in an increasingly globalized world, be it the sexual tension between the free-wheeling Justin (Joe Apollonio) and their hotel receptionist (Guillermo Jacubowicz) or Elena (Ulman, in front of the camera) serving as the reluctant go-between the parties.
But the clear standout is Alex Wolff, whose courtship of the solicitous Manchi (Camila del Campo) results in some truly uproarious moments of romantic and sexual comedy. Wolff has emerged in recent years as a standout “resident young person” in supporting casts across many genres, but he might be wise to lean into making himself a walking punchline more. In a film given to some broad caricatures of aloof Americans, Wolff makes clear choices like drawing out the delivery of his words that help sell his exaggerated antics.
Support independent movie journalism to keep it alive. Sign up for The Playlist Newsletter. All the content you want and, oh, right, it’s free.
As the cast spreads out, “Magic Farm” loses some of the intellectual thrust of its fish-out-of-water tale. A diversified menu of sight gags and silly lines alike help paper over the fraying connections as the ensemble disperses. The film also feels like a live ball, which helps the proceedings maintain some edge and intrigue. To the very end, any configuration of the characters in amorousness or animosity seems possible.
Those willing to look beyond the film’s interludes of ostentatious camerawork, including Insta360 fish-eye views and innovative placed GoPro devices, may find a sly comedy running underneath the action. These shots from the true underbelly of the film’s surroundings feel like a taunt by Ulman to her characters. She’s rubbing their nose in the type of immersive perspective that eludes their navel-gazing grasp on the ground.
It’s fitting that a story filtered through Ulman’s sensibilities would sputter out with a deliberate anticlimax. “Magic Farm” begins introducing some more overtly political themes as it draws to a close as a shot gets interrupted by a plane dropping toxic chemicals for agriculture over the shoot. Like much of the film, it’s straddling the fine line between humorous and horrifying.
A radio broadcast that plays softly behind the crew’s departure from their production site alludes to the catastrophic consequences of such operations on the population’s reproductive system. In a polemic, or even a more pointed satire, this crystallization of the contemporary colonial impulse might land with more of a wallop. But maybe it’s for the best that these parting words are but another oddity Ulman forces viewers to categorize. [B]
Check out the latest reviews from the 2025 Sundance Film Festival and The Playlist’s complete coverage from Park City here.